


Desolate

by ladydragon76



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fanfiction, M/M, Rating: PG-13, character: blurr, genre: angst, genre: drama, verse: idw, warning: spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> If things were so great, why did it feel like the ground was dropping away from under his feet again?</p>
<p>
  <b>SPOILERS for RiD #19 and #20 preview.</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desolate

**Author's Note:**

> **‘Verse:** IDW  
>  **Series:** None  
>  **Rating:** PG-13  
>  **Characters:** Blurr  
>  **Warnings:** Spoilers for IDW RiD comic preview #20, and issue #19.
> 
> **Notes:** A prompt from masqueadrift. The request can be found **[here](http://ladydragon76.livejournal.com/191244.html?thread=3087628#t3087628) **. This is also my 250th fic posted. O_o WOW!
> 
> **The Prompt:** _Set in RID - Sideswipe/Blurr:_
> 
> _The Autobots are banished into the wilds of Cybertron, leaving Iacon in the hands of the ex-Decepticon Starscream. Sideswipe is leaving with them; Blurr remains behind. Why? And is this a permanent separation? Will they change their minds and go looking for each other?_

Blurr tossed his broom on the trashed bar as he carefully made his way to the stairs behind it. He wasn’t going to get anything else done with the lights out, so he might as well attempt to rest. He was still recovering physically, though he was pretty lucky he hadn’t been as damaged as many others were.

Blurr had to really shove the door to even access the stairs, and it ground in its track worse than when he first took over Maccadam’s. Every bit of his body ached. He knew who had fought, who had died, who was even now clinging to life. He also knew who had refused to give up the pointlessness of their hatred and had left, insignia still intact.

The last made his spark ache more than anything.

He finally made it up the debris-cluttered stairs and to his door, having to push it hard back into place, but it wouldn’t lock, or even latch. That hardly mattered though, because every last one of his windows was blown out. Blurr could hear the sounds from the street below, and felt exposed. Raw.

His apartment- his _home_ was destroyed. Glass glittered in the dim starlight all over the floor. One of the window frames was torn from its place and had crashed right through the middle of Blurr’s lounge. The table he’d painstakingly polished, had traded a week’s worth of tips for the glass inlays, was crushed, and more glass lay on the floor all around it. The sofa that had been so comfortable, that he’d cleaned and scrubbed, then scrubbed some more was bisected, the center irreparably bent, the back cleaved.

Blurr tried to convince himself these were just things. He’d had far less for a much longer time, and he’d lost a _lot_ more with far more monetary value when the war started, but that didn’t seem to help. His spark was being squeezed by a huge fist, making it impossible to breathe right. Respiration came in shallow gasps, and Blurr turned away, not feeling alone enough to cry and mourn properly with the windows open to anyone who wanted to listen or see.

He stumbled over something that cracked and splintered under his feet, but managed to make it to his berth room. Here too, the windows were blown out, but Blurr gave the berth cover a lift and shake so he wouldn’t be rolling around in glass shards all night, and called that good enough.

It was just too exposed though, and even if Blurr had left the war behind, the fear of not being enclosed, hidden and safe was too ingrained. He dragged a thermal blanket over himself, curling into a ball under it. Glass tinked to the floor as he shifted, putting his back to the head of the berth, face barely peeking from under the blanket so he could see the windows.

Of course lying still felt good to his battered body, but it left his mind far too free as he stared out into the night.

He was out there somewhere. Was he even now going mad? Had the remaining Decepticons attacked? Had Bumblebee snapped and led an offensive? Was Sideswipe even still alive?

The last thought made Blurr panic and he opened a comm line, but could hear nothing but static.

It was the last straw, and Blurr whimpered, his vision of the world blearing. // _Sides… Sides, please?_ //

But there was no answer.

**Author's Note:**

> **([Table of Contents](http://ladydragon76.livejournal.com/6214.html) )**


End file.
